


hands for healing; hands for hurting

by hauntedgrounds



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gender-neutral Reader, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Other, Reader-Insert, Tension, Touch-Starved, but somebody get trapper a kiss stat, idk it's not inherently romantic, like they get mentioned in one line, mentions of nea and jake, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29161851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedgrounds/pseuds/hauntedgrounds
Summary: But now, his leg was the one trapped in it, the spikes driving deep to the bone.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Reader, Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	hands for healing; hands for hurting

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! this is my first dbd fic, and it's been a while since i've written anything so gentleness is appreciated. enjoy!
> 
> if i need to tag any additional warnings, please let me know.

The indomitable trap made Evan MacMillan’s calf squelch as he put more weight on his injured leg. Inside, his blood began to boil, and he thrust an angry glance at the sky in case the Entity might see him. He healed from all wounds he obtained during the trial just like the survivors, which was a good thing considering how much brain damage he imagined he’d have from the pallets by now. However, the wounds wouldn’t heal if they were perpetually opened by the steel jaws of the trap. He knew that from the tortuous hooks in his shoulders and arms.

The Entity had supplied him with some new, odd bits after he had done horribly in his past few trials, going up against the infuriating girl with the beanie and the silent boy with stern features that constantly dismantled his belongings.

“A little extra help,” a small voice had whispered in the back of his head. “Make them suffer. Kill them all.”

Evan had gone to work trying to engineer a new trap which would bring more pain than before. The best he had created was an infinite locking device, one that only he knew how to spring. There was nothing more annoying than hearing the cry of trapped prey and coming to their location to discover they had been released through their own sheer will or a nearby teammate.

But now, his leg was the one trapped in it, the spikes driving deep to the bone. Luckily, he finished off the rest of the survivors early on. It was just the new one left. He glimpsed you earlier and not recognized you, but he did know the customary fear lighting up your eyes and immediately connected that it was one of your first times in a trial.

Evan grunted and began to fumble his fingers alongside the bottom of the trap again, searching blindly for the release. The trap remained locked around his calf. The mechanism was completely stuck, wouldn’t even budge.

Evan looked up at his surroundings. In the distance, he could hear a generator chugging about a third of the way through. Slowly, he attempted to close the gap. With every step, he felt his supernatural strength starting to fail him, and he growled in frustration as he felt the steel spike scrape against bone. It had been a long time since he had felt this kind of pain.The pain reminded him of the worthlessness he felt in his life before this place, the smallness his father made him feel. If only his father could see him now, Evan scoffed. All because of his stupid mistake, he couldn’t even hunt you down and finish the trial.

As if to try and prove a point to no one around, he took a couple hard steps towards the chugging generator, but his body protested with each step until it finally gave out. The trap crippled him completely, sending him down onto one knee with a loud grunt. What a sick joke this was. He knew he looked just like one of those damn maggots when they got caught by surprise. The trapper was trapped.

Using a nearby tree for support, he pushed himself back to his feet. The shoe of his injured leg was almost full of blood, drowning his foot all the way up to his ankle. Again, he attempted to free himself with a couple of particularly vicious grunts, resorting to abandoning the mechanism and trying to rip the contraption apart. What was the point of having brutal strength when it couldn’t save him now?

A spurt of blood squirted from his leg onto the forest floor. Evan tipped over again because of the weight imbalance, but he managed to steady himself against the tree. When he looked up again, he saw you.

The generator was still chugging and clicking a little ways away, but it was abandoned now as you stood there ogling him leaning pathetically up against the tree. Though he knew you had no intention of hurting him, he understood what you must feel when the killers found you hiding away, what it feels like to be prey before a predator.

“Are... are you okay?” Your voice was so unsure. Even in all your naivety to this hellscape, you seemed to understand you were breaking some sort of taboo.

Evan let out an exhale, hard and hot, something animal lurking under the surface. Ignoring you, he gripped his cleaver, resolved to try desperate measures to get the device off.

You interrupted. “Can I help?” As if for emphasis on your intention, you shook your toolbox at him, bits and pieces jangling around on the inside.

Evan looked up at you. Had his mask been off, you would have surely seen the way his lips pressed together and his eyes momentarily widened. Two parts of him wrestled with each other. Part of him knew letting you help would probably be his best shot at getting the infernal thing off, but he should have been killing you right now; you were right there, and it was his job.

Again, he pushed to his feet and tried to take a step toward you, but as soon as he attempted, he was sent back down with another exclamation of pain. The cleaver went flying from his hands and clattering over a root of the tree, closer to you than him now. You witnessed the whole thing with seeming impartiality. As impossible as it seemed, the trap had wedged itself farther shut, almost nearing the point of snapping Evan’s leg off completely.

“Look, buddy, I don’t know much about what’s going on here, but all the others didn’t say anything about this.” You motioned to his form on the forest floor. “I don’t exactly get any of this. This whole place, I mean. But if you don’t let me help you, you’re going to lose that leg.”

Evan glanced down at where the pooled blood was now pouring out of the boot. The pain was nearly unbearable, but the Entity’s gift of overwhelming strength had him feeling like he could overcome it, like a little grit was all he needed to push through. However, for all the knocks to the brain with pallets and sheer blindness inflicted by a survivor with a strong flashlight, they healed instantly. Evan had a deep-seated feeling that if his leg came off that it wouldn’t be coming back.

Having been here the longest, Evan figured if anyone was to know anything about this sort of thing it would be him. He could imagine other killers approaching him with such questions. But he would have had no answer to give them; he was stumped at his own predicament, shamed by his hubris in his new invention. Perhaps this had been the Entity’s will after all. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone in the realm had been rid from existence. There had been killers and survivors alike. One of the only things the two groups had in common was their slavehood to this corporeal being that none of them truly understood, could even begin to fathom. He was just surprised the Entity did its dirty work itself and in such a sneaky, undermining fashion.

His silence seemed to be enough confirmation for you as you stepped forward. The growl that ripped from his throat was enough to send you back.  
Your eyes nervously searched the ground. “I won’t hurt you. I don’t even think I can.” Finding your desired object, you seized his cleaver off the ground, your hand barely managing to circle around the grip.

Evan watched you, dared you to even try it. Should he lose his leg or even his existence on this plain as a result, so be it. He would not allow a timid survivor like you to cut him down.

You backed up a few paces and set the cleaver down well out of his reach. It was smart to remove it from the surrounding area, but Evan was still floored by your decision not to use it against him. You would likely never have an opportunity like that again - with him or any other killer.

“You stupid animal,” Evan muttered as you reapproached him. His voice was hoarse, husky from its under-usage. It surprised even himself.

You froze and blinked a few times. “So he speaks.”

There was silence as you waited for him to respond again, but he seemed to decide against indulging you. Evan was wrestling with whether or not to still try and attack you. Either way, you would die before the trial was over - that much he would make sure of. Your kindness would be your demise. Witnessing your stupidity from it in the meantime was just free entertainment for Evan.

“Well,” you started when you realized he wouldn’t respond, “let’s see, I guess.”

Your toolbox made a clatter as you set it on the ground. Tentatively, you observed the outside of his wound, but his pants in the way made it somewhat difficult to gauge what exactly was happening.

“Let’s get you on your feet.” You reached out in order to assist and shortly found yourself on your ass a few feet away, likely adding another bruise or two to the cluster that covered the rest of your blackened, bloodied body.

Evan climbed to his feet by himself, using the tree and a nearby rock for support again. “Get something through your thick skull, maggot: I’ll take care of you as soon as this thing’s off my damn leg. You’re as dead as your friends.”

“You’re not getting that thing off without my help,” you snapped back, awfully brave for someone in your position. “I figured you would kill me anyway, but I thought it also might piss that big, spidery bitch off to see me help you.” You collected yourself and began to walk back over on your knees until you were a few feet away.

Evan’s body tensed up. “What?”

“The thing in the sky. The little voice on the wind. The one who orchestrates all this bullshit.” You motioned upwards as if the Entity would seemingly appear as though summoned. “Whatever it is, it gets off on what you do to us. Figured it might get pissed off to see someone doing something they shouldn’t.”

Concern for his leg began to wane inside of Evan. Instead, an intense curiosity festered in its place. You were funny in your mannerisms - disrespecting the very thing that you should hold on high, pray to in order to let you go. All Evan could manage to do to feed his own curiosity was let you do your bidding.

You eyed him carefully as you tried to gauge his thoughts. Sensing his submission, you reached for your toolbox. “Okay, hold still.”

After rummaging for a moment, you pulled out a couple screwdrivers and pliers. Your hands fisted on the wet fabric of his dark, denim overalls and began to pull apart, ripping the material apart. Your teeth clenched together as you exerted as much force as possible to reveal the wound like you were unwrapping some sort of morbid Christmas present.

“Holy fuck,” you mumbled, placing a hand on the area of his shin outside where the trap had clenched shut.

Evan nearly jumped out of his shoes at the contact. The feeling of your hand against his leg sent wave after wave of tension coursing throughout his body, stiffening him with every growing second. At his sides, his own hands curled into fists as he watched you study his wound, waiting for you to reveal some sort of trick up your sleeve that would maim him further.

You removed your hand, and the relief dispelled through his system. However, it was a brief respite from the uncomfortableness of skin-to-skin contact with you as you soon placed one hand on either side of his calf.

This time, Evan made a noise that clearly expressed his discomfort. Grateful for the cover of his mask, he grimaced deeply. It was almost nauseating how gentle your touch was.

All Evan knew growing up was the abusive hand of his father. The large, rough palms of the man who had raised Evan seemed to only exist to hurt him. Even before his mother’s passing, a gentle touch was about as foreign to Evan as a day passed without being kissed by the hard knuckles of his father’s fist. Throughout the years, Evan had come to avoid human contact with just about everyone. At first, it was just because the bruises would ache if someone got too rough, but it eventually devolved into complete isolation from touch itself. Sometimes even bumping shoulders with one of the maggots in the mines was enough to get him to unleash his fury.  
  
The years of growing repulsed by touch had accelerated Evan’s descent into the darkness of his father’s shadow. Workers were warned to avoid too much physical contact with Evan. Even those that Evan considered to be his friends were tedious in their efforts to remember not to give him a playful slap on the back or a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Now that Evan was here in the Entity’s realm, things were somewhat better - for a multitude of reasons. His father was gone; the workers from the mine were gone; and the pressure from having to deal with both was gone too. He was good at this, he knew what to do, and that was proof enough that this was where he had always been destined to come, destined to belong. But that didn’t mean he was happy here. 

Looking down at you handling him so delicately, he almost wished you would be rougher. It was just what he was used to. It would have made you easier to hate like everyone from his old life. Why wasn’t the Entity making him hate you like it normally did?

You looked up at him from your knees, your big, doe eyes shining the light from a nearby fire pit back at him. “Don’t worry. I think I can get it off.”

Evan’s heart pumped out a particularly hard beat. “Then do it,” he muttered and looked away. Underneath the mask, his face felt hot, and despite the cut of his mask’s mouth being wide, it was growing more difficult to breathe.

The nervousness from earlier was beginning to settle, and something warm brewed in his stomach instead. Whatever it was, Evan didn’t recognize it nor did he like it or the way it made him focus on the way your gentle hands felt against his leg, holding it steady as you began to tinker with the trap. Sure that you weren’t paying attention, Evan pushed his mask up from his face so he could get a better visual on what you were doing and, subconsciously, so he could breathe better.

As you worked, your nimble fingers maneuvered the inner workings of the trap and positioned the tools as screws began to fall seamlessly to the ground. Evan felt himself calm; there was a moment of peace and clarity. Despite the situation, he didn’t feel angry or upset. Looking down at you, he didn’t find any will within him to try and hurt you. For the first time in ages, he didn’t want to hurt anybody, and he wondered with this clarity if he had ever wanted to at all. It was as though there had been a poison soaking his eyes and his mind, but all the blood he had seemed to have lost had drained it from him and your presence served as a positive reinforcement. All of the Entity’s influence was fading off of him like steam rising from heated water.

Evan looked down at you. It was strange to gaze upon a survivor and not want to see their guts hanging like streamers from a tree. He didn’t understand where this feeling had come from or why it was slowly transforming into melancholy.

“Don’t those hurt too?” you asked, making conversation.

Evan made a noise of question. He would choose not to actually vocalize given the choice, and he wasn’t sure exactly what you were referring to.

You nodded at the hooks and beams extending from his arms and legs. “Those. Did you do those yourself?”

“No,” Evan responded despondently. He recalled the Entity’s abuse of him when he first came here. “And they don’t hurt.”

Unanswered orders to kill had resulted in his maiming instead. Where the hooks and rods were ached on occasion; they had seemingly melded in with his skin. The torture he suffered at the Entity’s hands built resentment inside of him for the survivors. Just like in his old life, he was made to suffer for someone else’s existence, someone else’s fuck-ups, and the bitterness of that fact was what had set him on the survivors so viciously. But at the beginning had there been a choice, Evan would have chosen not to hurt anyone here.  
  
There was a time in his life where Evan wanted to hurt people, so he did. However, it was never meant to end with him here; he had never meant to get the Entity’s attention and fall under its devices to be further manipulated into murdering more. It was his father and his old, so-called friends he had hatred for, not the ones here, not when he first came here. 

A bit of hair fell down in your eyes. Your busy hands didn’t come up to fix it. Instead, you merely tried to shake it away with a flip of your head. To no avail, the stray hair immediately fell back down again. You let out a stiff laugh, hidden under the disguise of an exhale of breath.

Evan stared and considered. He thought about what you said earlier, about pissing off the Entity with one, little misdoing. Your hands tinkered away, the mechanism slowly unclenching. Evan stared more, understood why the melancholy was rising in his chest. 

Even if you had your reasons or excuses for helping, you still were even though he was destined to murder you and your friends for the foreseeable future. And you touched him so gently - like he hadn’t ever been. And when he touched you, it would always be to hurt you. You were so unlike each other.

Evan wondered if he was capable of such kindness, if he had ever been, if his father had poisoned him to the core from the moment Evan was first held in his arms at birth. He reached out and brushed the hair with just the tips of his fingers at first, hesitating even though you didn’t seem to notice. There seemed to be some kind of invisible force holding him back, but he paid it no mind and forced his hand into your hair, fingertips gliding along the front of your forehead and backwards along the side of your scalp. Rounding the back of your head, he tucked it away behind your ear where it wouldn’t bother you anymore.

You looked up at him again, his fingers still idling against the side of your head. Your eyes widened and narrowed. The expression on your face was nearly unreadable. “Oh.”

He forgot he had removed his mask and anticipated your withdrawal, not only from the sight of him but the unexpected touch. An apology almost stumbled past his lips, but he found himself incapable of speaking, too enthralled by the prospect of being touched and being able to touch without violence in its purpose. Evan had forgotten what it was like to touch someone like that, or maybe he had never known it all.

“Thanks,” you said in a quiet, grim voice, a tight smile gracing the corners of your lips. Despite the awkwardness of your situation, you seemed genuine enough. You turned back to your work, and Evan waited a moment and then pulled his hand away.

The trap fell away and crashed down around his ankle, breaking further apart. Pausing, you turned your head back up at him and where his hand was up around the top of his head gripping his mask.

“Weird to know what you look like under there,” you muttered half-heartedly, still fumbling around with his mutilated leg.

Evan didn’t know what to make of it, so he said nothing in return, just let out another hot puff of breath. He pulled his mask back on and almost immediately felt the hatred seeping back into him. The Entity was with him again, infecting its hatred into him.

Evan reached out and pulled you to your feet, rougher than he intended. Without much time to waste, he dragged you halfway around the map until he heard the hollow, resounding noise of the hatch.

“Go,” he ordered you, swinging you around by the arm until you stood over the abysmal black of the hole.

You stood there for a moment. “Is that it?” You crouched down and stared into it. Clearly your inexperience had never led you to this destination before. “This is the hatch everyone talks about?”

“Yes, go,” Evan demanded again, losing patience and time. He would admit to you that he was in a losing battle with your tormentor. “Or I’ll hurt you.” 

The words forced themselves out of his clenched teeth. It was difficult to say when the last lingering part of his uninfluenced soul still wanted to feel your soft hands against his skin, feel your hair on his fingers, soaking in every last bit of normal human contact he would possibly ever have. Every inch of him felt like it was on fire. Whether it was from remembering your touch or the Entity enacting wrath upon him for the lack of murder, he was unsure.

You frowned, infuriatingly endearing, and cocked your head to the side. “You haven’t got your cleaver.” You jumped into the hatch and plummeted into the darkness.

Evan sighed. Claws raked across the back of his neck; it was displeased with him. Not as much as the last few times where everyone had gotten away, but still disappointed. It was still able to recognize Evan had shown mercy. The pain it inflicted was brief but sharp or so Evan imagined. He was still recalling the feeling of a pleasant touch and sinking back under the hateful blanket of the realm’s darkening sky.

**Author's Note:**

> every kudos and comment is appreciated!


End file.
